


Always a Price

by Drag0nst0rm



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, And this isn't the happy go lucky part of the cycle, Character Death, Dark, Gen, Magic is a Cycle, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8121922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Magic demands a life for a life.
Unless it gets offended. Then it demands more than that.
A lot more.





	

There are some types of magic that simply shouldn't be used. The consequences for getting the slightest thing wrong are too unimaginable.

Nimueh had never been one for following those rules.

 

She had never liked Uther. She loved Ygraine like a sister, but she didn't care for Uther in the slightest. 

So when she began her spell, life for a life, she knew what life she intended to exchange.

_The mother,_ the magic seemed to hiss, _it must be the mother._

She was a high priestess of the old religion. She didn't _have_ to do anything.

_Uther,_ she demanded.

She felt the magic grip Uther, but the little life inside Ygraine began to flicker. The connection between father and son was not quite strong enough for this type of working, not yet.

She gritted her teeth and held on. She could do this, she could, she could - 

 

No type of magic likes to be ordered around. If you try to force it, magic gets contrary and refuses to do anything at all, or it makes a fool of you in some way.

Of course, magic isn't human. It doesn't see much difference in making a fool of you by breaking your chair and making a fool of you by killing someone you were trying to save. What are mere lives to a force of nature?

 

Uther blamed magic. He never articulated quite what he blamed it for, but he blamed the magic.

He fought a war against it he never seemed quite able to win and fought to hold his head high as his kingdom crumbled around him and magic crept in every time he turned his back.

It was everywhere, and he could trust no one at all, not even his son, because his son had been conceived of it, and that meant the seed of evil was somewhere inside. 

Magic was everywhere, taunting him, and it was a torment unlike any other to batter himself to pieces trying to rip it out.

 

There comes a point in every spell where it's too late to salvage it. Nimueh never realized that, so she called on Gaius to help, and Gaius, ever loyal, could not refuse her. He demanded the magic work to his will, even though he knew better, because his king was dying, and what else could he do?

No matter what it cost him.

 

Gaius's bones had creaked for as long as he could remember. It was a petty agony, but one that wore him away bit by bit, much like watching his friends fall, one by one, and being powerless to help.

His king was all he had left now, and he could not give up on Uther, not ever, because to admit that his king was not worthy to rule would be to admit that every execution had been for nothing.

 

Magic always demands a price, and it isn't always a fair one. It reached out and out, claiming all those who offended it in those long weeks after Nimueh was declared a traitor.

Lancelot wanted so badly to be a knight. A noble wish, to be sure, but one that had a secret behind it.

He had thought, once, if he could only turn over a sorcerer to the vengeful monarch of Camelot that his place would be assured.

He never thought of what had come after that. Never.

But when he came across another young sorcerer, alone in the woods and in danger of dying, he had chosen a very different course of action. He'd devoted himself to saving that stupidly brave warlock's life until at last he was granted rest in the form of a cold so deep it buried any memory of flames.

 

It claimed Nimueh too, of course, and all the petty sorcerers fool enough to speak in her defense.

 

They came raging to Camelot, never seeming to realize the futility of their plans.

Edwin Muirden remembered the flames. Iseldir remembered that it was very important that he not fight. Kilgharrah remembered anger enough to fell the stars.

None of them quite remembered why, but they all remembered something.

 

It claimed cowards that turned on their neighbors and mercenaries that should have known better. It didn't care that the blacksmith had a family he was terrified of losing or that the blacksmith's daughter had only wanted to save her brother. It didn't care that the mercenaries had been ready to do anything to make amends.

It didn't care for reasons, only vengeance.

 

_She mustn't tell._ Those were the words that came to mind every time Gwen saw Merlin. No matter what he did, she mustn't tell anyone, not even Merlin himself. She had learned that lesson somewhere, probably when she was very young. Whatever happened, she must not tell, or something awful would happen, even if Uther was gone and Arthur was reasonable.

_He can't stay._ That was what Elyan knew. If he stayed, Gwen would get hurt, so he mustn't stay. He must not make demands of her or look too closely at anyone in the castle. If they were odd, he would let them be. Staying anywhere long enough to notice those things meant he was getting too close.

_He can't stand to think._ Gwaine's sister was a witch. He drowned that thought in drink, even though he knew how dangerous that was. It had been a mind weakened by drink that had betrayed him last time, and that can't happen again, but there's no one left to protect, so why not drown his thoughts? Only it didn't work, nothing worked, until he got a second chance, and he threw himself into the fray.

They feel the flames, all of them, in the bite of Morgana's magics. They feel the loneliness that comes from being the last. They know what it means to run aimlessly, exiled from their homes. One by one, they pay their dues, but they burn first. They give all they have to give until they've nothing left but tears and blood.

 

And, of course, it claimed the unborn prince that had been at the heart of the mess. Him, it didn't know quite what to do with.

 

"I can't decide," Arthur said one night, staring out the window, "if we have the worst luck in Camelot or the best."

"I assume that's a royal we, sire," Merlin said, lips twitching. 

"You're in this mess as much as I am."

Merlin held up his hands innocently. "I was never once attacked by a rampaging dragon until I met you. Clearly, this is all your fault."

Arthur rolled his eyes but didn't respond to the barb. "If things keep escalating like this, I'm either going to bring peace to Camelot or send the whole place up in flames."

"Maybe it hasn't been decided yet," Merlin said thoughtfully. "Better play it safe till you're sure."

(Arthur does not play it safe. Arthur takes a dragon forged sword to the heart. Magic, despite itself, regrets this, so it finds itself a loophole it can bring him back with later when it gets bored.)

 

It does not claim Ygraine. Not directly. This is far more satisfying.

 

The aging queen gripped the armrests of her throne with white-knuckled fingers, but the rage that had propelled her younger years was gone. Now all that was left was the fear that always gripped her when magic itself, in the form of Emrys, showed up.

Excalibur rested on the table between them. The blade glittered with images that fled across its surface too fast for mortal eyes to understand.

"I can't stay long," Emrys said. "Queen Guinevere is expecting Merlin to return soon, and I find it rather annoying to try and keep more than one avatar going at once."

"What does it matter?" Ygraine asked bitterly. "She's in your world. You can twist the rules to adjust for a later meeting."

"I could," Emrys agreed, "but I'm rather looking forward to telling her that your son won't be coming home, so I'd rather not postpone it."

Ygraine did not give him the satisfaction of a cry, but she couldn't stop the blood draining from her face.

Emrys looked amused. "I don't know why you're upset. It's not like anyone ever really dies in that little world I've created. Not until they've atoned properly, and Arthur's far too fun a toy to declare his judgement fulfilled quite yet."

Years ago, she would have protested that. Now she knows better. "Why did you come?" she asked tonelessly. She knew the answer already, but this was their ritual, and she wanted this to be over.

"Because I couldn't save my children when they screamed for me," Emrys replied. "I could snatch away and punish the ones that tried to bend me to their will, but I couldn't save the children who asked instead of demanded." His eyes get just a touch wilder. "But I can see justice done when I see your pain."

"When will you free my people from the half-life you've trapped them in? When will you hold their sins forgiven?"

"When justice has been done," he said, just like he always did.

For the first time, she realized the truth. "Which will not be while I'm alive."

"No," he agreed. "Not another millennia or two, I expect." He tilted his head. "You know, it's the oddest thing. My other avatars, Dragoon and Merlin, have grown fond of them. Merlin especially. I don't know why."

No, she thought, Emrys wouldn't. The sage might cackle at their antics and give them scraps of gifts like an eccentric grandfather, and the child might learn to love them and weep for their pain, but the warrior before her would never see anything but scales to be balanced and toys for his amusement.

Emrys gave her a mocking bow and disappeared. She picked up the sword carefully and pretended she could see her son's face within it. It was a warrior's weapon for a warrior's spell, and it shouldn't surprise her that it was Emrys who held sway over his other aspect in this age of war.

But it occurred to her, as she looked at the sword, that no age, good or bad, could last forever. There had been a time when elders ruled and the world turned on their wisdom and tradition. There would come a time when the young would hold sway and mercy would triumph over blood.

Her foolishness - or Nimueh's, or Gaius's, or her husband's, what did it matter anymore? - had cost them much, and Emrys would make them pay for every drop of blood while Merlin and Dragoon were too weak to stop him.

But someday, when magic stopped being a thing of blood and started being a thing of books or children again . . . Someday, one of the others would reign.

And then, perhaps, her son would finally be free.

 

Magic turns just as the cycles of history. Vengeance rules for now, but Merlin watches and waits while Dragoon cackles in the background.

Someday, Emrys will grow weak.

And when he does, Merlin will be ready.

**Author's Note:**

> So, in case this wasn't clear: Ygraine survived the birth, but capital M-Magic claimed Uther and Arthur. Ygraine went on a Mama Bear rampage of a Purge in an attempt to get revenge on Nimueh, and Magic started claiming everyone it saw as having betrayed it. It snatched them away to a little world it kept within a certain sword where it could play with them. Every now and then, one of Magic's gentler aspects dropped in to see them . . . and accidentally made friends. Oops.
> 
> I am exhausted and drained and have no confidence that any of this makes any sense whatsoever, much less is any good, but I had fun writing it, so at least one person's happy.


End file.
